


surrender, poet

by Aeriel



Category: Les Contes d'Hoffman - Offenbach/Barbier
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:52:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8371285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeriel/pseuds/Aeriel
Summary: A muse's work is never done.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quillori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillori/gifts).



It was always a delicate balance.  
  
Hoffmann's happiness in love, left unchecked, drew him away from his writing desk. But Hoffmann's agony in love, working in concert with a few too many bottles of cheap wine, often left him collapsed on top of it with no will to pick up the pen.  
  
He was an unwieldy instrument, her Hoffmann. But those with the rockiest foundations often produced the most beautiful art, at least in her experience. Opinions on the subject were understandably divided; artist's muses were as diverse as the artists they protected.  
  
But there had been a streak of darkness in Hoffmann's work from the beginning, perhaps even a fascination with death, and that drew her to him. Still, despite what he might profess in his more volatile moments, he did not wish to die just yet, and that made it easier to draw him back from the edge when the darkness he so attracted pushed him further than was productive.  
  
And it was for those moments, and several more besides, that Nicklausse had come into being. The real Nicklausse had left long ago, frustrated by Hoffmann's whims and eager to live his own life without the burden of a poet who was in love with love. Easy, then, to take on the trappings of Nicklausse's shape and slip into Hoffmann's physical life without disturbing his peace of mind.

There were many advantages to being flesh and blood, but perhaps the most important one was having a voice. She could always speak to Hoffmann in feelings and images, flashes of inspiration, but words were more direct, and more likely to leave a lasting impression when he did not have a pen close at hand.

And if the words Nicklausse spoke were often fueled by frustration, well, there would be no frustration if there were not love underneath it as well. She knew the feeling was mutual-- Nicklausse had begun appearing as savior in the stories Hoffmann told of his adventures some time ago, before it became true but after she had properly tailored the disguise to her liking. Which of course was why it came to be true.

None of the women he pursued were capable of such a thing, to understand and anticipate his art and love him in that way. They were all on their own journeys, paths intersecting ever so briefly with Hoffmann's before diverging again (though perhaps not as briefly as she would have preferred).

But, in a way, perhaps that was for the best. If Hoffmann's soul were truly satisfied, would he ever pick up a pen again?


End file.
